Page 9 of Fore Better or Worse
“Please.”
“No, really. Plus, I’m praying you’ll tell me you won that blue ribbon for best pie or something like that. I’m a sucker for dessert.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Really?”
“What? You don’t picture me as a dessert kind of guy?” He slaps a hand to his chest in mock offense. “And here I was, thinking we’d already established my honest nature.”
I gesture toward the servers carrying plates of some sort of chocolate dessert across the deck. “They’re serving dessert now, and you’re missing it.”
“Something much more tempting is occupying me, at the moment.”
My cheeks redden at the obvious implication, but I choose to ignore it. “If it makes you feel better, your wish did come true. My blue ribbon is for Dutch apple pie, my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I’m wishing for a lot more than pie, at the moment. Although, if you have some at home right now and invite me over after we dock, I’d down at least two slices, I swear.”
Did he really just suggest I invite him back to my place? The casual way he said it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, makes my pulse race.
Is that how things are in the dating scene now? Straight from hello tolet’s jump into the sackwithout bothering to pass Go? “I’m fresh out at the moment.”
“I’ll take a raincheck.”
I can tell he means it. And the way he acts as if this conversation isn’t idle flirtation to pass the time while we’re stuck on a sunset cruise makes something flutter in my chest.
“Believe me, we’re not as different as you think.” He leans against the railing, close enough that our elbows touch, sending electricity through the point of contact. “I mean, we both prefer individual pursuits over group activities, for one.”
“Individual pursuits?”
“Golf’s a solo sport, darling. Just me against the course and whatever’s in my head. And writing? That’s about as solitary asit gets, isn’t it?” His voice drops to the velvet tone that makes my knees weak, and he draws a finger slowly along my forearm. “Though, I have to say, I’m very good at one-on-one activities, too. Really lets me focus on my technique.”
My breath hitches at the contact, but I hold my own. “Subtle, hotshot.”
His grin widens as if I’ve just given him a trophy. “A nickname? Now, I know you’re really falling for me, too.”
Too?
But the approval in his voice, as if I’ve done something right, something that pleases him, sends an unexpected warmth spiraling through me. God, what’s wrong with me? Since when do I react like this to a man’s approval?
“Plus,” he adds, drawing a lazy circle on the back of my hand, “life’s too short for subtlety.”
“I don’t know about that. But I’ll admit you’re right. We officially have one thing in common.”
“Surely, you could come up with something else.” He turns to face me and suddenly, the space between us feels charged with possibility. “I bet we’re both good kissers.”
My gaze drops to his lips. Victory flashes in his eyes, and I realize I’ve just revealed my tell. “Why… Why would you think I’m a good kisser?”
“Are you?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with invitation and challenge. I should deflect, make a joke and step away from whatever this is building toward. But before I can answer, a sharp hiss cuts through the air.
Chapter six
Leah
Afirework explodes overhead, painting the deck in gold and red light. The sudden boom makes me jump, and instinctively, Hays reaches out to steady me. His hand finds the small of my back, and instead of pulling away as I should, I find myself tucking closer to his warmth.
More fireworks follow, a spectacular display against the darkening sky. But I’m barely watching. His thumb traces small circles against my back. And, notched perfectly against his side, my senses can’t focus on anything else.
I should move away. But when I tilt back my head, catching the reflection of the colorful lights in his eyes, I can’t bring myself to care about being sensible.
